Tag Archives: career

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The Way it Goes

I could write about how happy I am, how much thankfulness I feel in the deepest part of my heart, how difficult it is for me to sit still for any amount of time out of pure excitement, or how long I’ve been waiting for a day like yesterday to arrive. Let me tell you – when I do write about it, when I do have the patience and the stillness in my fingers to write about it, it’ll be a killer blog. It’ll be one of those that I know the second I publish it that it’s going to get a lot of hits and tons of comments. I’ll feel it pour out of me swiftly and easily, the kind of writing that is more like therapy…than well, therapy.

But it isn’t time for that now. Now is the time to celebrate with my friends at a bar in meatpacking with my favorite shoes and a sexy number. It’s time to toast to having patience and believing in the very best, no matter what sets you back at first. Because if you really have a gift, if you really have faith in yourself and what you can do – there may be moments where you feel inadequate or even times when you fail, but because you’re you and you know how great of a thing that is to be – you’ll always find your way.

And sometimes, the way it goes is a way that surprises you. Unexpectedly and quite beautifully. But most importantly – perfectly.

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The Misinterpretation of the Palm

Last night with Mr. Possibility and a few fabulous friends in tow, I attended Cosmopolitan’s Summer Splash Party at the Hudson Terrace. It was everything you’d expect out of a Cosmo party – sponsored in part by Durex and Plan B, complete with blow-outs and make-up touchups, bags of beauty goodies and of course, palm readings.

Now – I’ve had palm readings several time in the past. I’ve always wanted to find one of those secret psychics who doesn’t advertise like the rest of the city clairvoyants with services to offer. Those that are hidden away that don’t charge barely anything at all because they just want to help, they just have this special gift they must offer the world. Because I’m not rich and famous and connected to such individuals, I usually settle for whatever I can find. Whoever can give me an unrealistic peace of mind.

As he could have probably guessed, as soon as I saw the palm readers, I signed up for my turn and Mr. Possibility headed to get us drinks. I manged to only be sixth in line and as I sipped my Pinnacle Whipped Vodka that remarkably tasted just like cream soda, I kept one eye on the table, anticipating my glimpse into the crystal ball. A few minutes later, our mutual friends arrived and while Mr. P joined them in a loop around the space, I sat down in front of my personal psychic for the evening.

Having done this countless times before, I knew exactly how to place my hand and I excitedly waited for her to reveal the vision she saw for me in the future. She casually asked my name and I was careful not to reveal anything else, knowing how easy it is to get sucked into a conversation and then they base your entire reading off of what you’ve already told them. She analyzed my palm, turning it over and running her fingers along the lines. She asked if there was any particular subject I was interested in more than another and I requested to chat about my career, as it happens to be the one I’m thinking about the most these days.

Looking deeply in my eyes as a photographer snapped pictures of me, I tried to look intrigued though she hadn’t said anything yet. “So, I see that you’ve never really known what you wanted to do. You had a hard time picking a major in college and now you’re trying to decide what industry to go into. You’re still young, I see, so you have time. Maybe you should try art school or work at a museum or dabble into writing. You might really like writing if you give it a try. You have someone in your family who can support you financially, don’t be afraid to ask for it. Then you can really explore.”

Not one to hide anything I’m feeling, my forehead must have been scrunched up something awful, so she asked, “Is there any other topic you’re interested in knowing about?” I was stunned speechless at her complete inaccuracy – the other psychics at least can come up with some sort of something that’s somewhat true. I have always been a writer, always known what I wanted to do, and if I do have a wealthy relative I’ve never met, I’d love to be introduced. She was still blinking at me intensely, maybe trying to prove herself impressionable when Mr. P came by and dropped a drink next to me. I didn’t respond to thank him, but it reminded me of something I usually ask about:

Love.

“Well, what about my love life?” I asked. She went back to scrutinizing my hand, tilting her head this way and that as I watched, continuing to doubt her. A few moments later she looked up at me and said, “You have mixed feelings about relationships. You have a hard time committing, don’t spend a lot of time obsessing about love and have never been one to be ridiculous about men. You’re not seeing anyone special, but you could be if you would let go of the past. Wait – not the past, the past of your parents. Don’t worry, just because they are split up doesn’t mean that you’ll split up with your husband. You have to take chances or you’ll look back on your life ten years from now and wonder why you never loved anyone.”

Having heard enough, I thanked her for her time and she gave me hand lotion as a parting gift. Mr. P was waiting close by and asked, “So, what’s the future hold, babe?” I rolled my eyes in annoyance and told him what she said. He jokingly asked if he could meet this side of me and I shared the story with the rest of our friends. Maybe being an astrologer’s daughter has ruined me for psychics, or maybe the comfort we seek in a psychic is something that’s impossible and overrated.

Because as much as we’d like, there’s no one to predict our fates. We can’t control what the universe gives us, only what we give it. There’s no way to see the blueprint, only ways to build the life we want to live. No matter how brilliant it would be to know what’s next, who we’re going to end up with, and what success will find us, knowing before isn’t an option to opt into.

So instead we have to just be. We have to take chances and make mistakes, go so big and so hard that going home isn’t in the cards. We have to pray for what we want but understand we usually get what we need. And though we may hope for the very best, perhaps it’s actually best to prepare for the worst, just in case. We have to have faith in ourselves, trust in the master plan that we can’t see, and love those we’ve yet to meet.

There’s no telling what’s next, no matter how many fortune tellers we visit or stars we read. Maybe we design our destinies, maybe it’s all pre-determined – regardless, the point of it all is to just live, hoping that one day it all works out. Perhaps how we imagined, how we planned, how we thought it would.

Or maybe, it turns out in a way so beautiful and complicated that our own palm could have never predicted its path.

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You Look Perfect

Last week, I had an important meeting that had my nerves on fire. Not to mention, I was literally on fire because of the relentless heat in New York lately – I’ve never been more thankful for unexpected rain before. Even if my hair goes flat and frizzy, God bless the downpour and let it flood.

Escaping the burning pavement into one of my favorite buildings in New York that also happens to be one of the greenest, I took in a deep breath to calm my nerves. This meeting could change my life and here it was, getting ready to begin regardless if I had sweat beads trickling down my back or not. I checked in with security, giving my best shot at a grin that hid my nerves, headed up the escalator to reach the elevators that moved so quickly up 40 floors that it made my stomach leap.

Nodding at the elevator attendant who pushed the numbers for me and led me to the cart that would take me up to my could-be future, I entered the doors without acknowledging the man who was sharing the ride with me. As I always do when I’m face-to-face with a mirror, I straightened my hair and attempted to graciously wipe the sweat from my brow without messing up my interview-ready makeup. Playing the part of a girl at a bar mirror, I did a 360, only to notice my tag was untucked. Mouthing the word “s**t” to silently to myself, I tried to carefully conceal it without appearing to ridiculous to this man standing near me. I had avoided eye contact out of embarrassment and because I wasn’t sure if he thought I was some crazy girl fidgeting on an elevator that houses some of the most influential players in publishing.

I didn’t realize, of course, that he happened to be one of them.

As I awkwardly reached across my back, contorting my body to perfect my outfit, I was caught off guard in mid-tuck when this man said, “You look perfect.” Surprised and instantly curling my lips to form a smile, I realized who it was at the same moment he realized who I was. Out of shock, I said his name and thanked him for the compliment while he wished me luck. I would later email him to describe how great it was to run into him before this meeting and he would respond by saying he hoped to see more of me and that my meeting went smoothly.

It did and you know what, I didn’t look perfect.

I didn’t say the perfect things. I didn’t read off a script. I didn’t have the best experience, the best clips, the best anything. I didn’t go to the best journalism school, I didn’t have the most solid background that a journalist of my age and tiny tenure could have. My dress wasn’t expensive and in fact, I didn’t even own it – it belonged to my friend M who thought it looked great on me and encouraged me to take it out for a spin and for some luck. My shoes were a little too big and my face wasn’t as perfectly clear as the models who grace the magazine I hoped to write for.

But I did a great job and more importantly, I was myself. And that’s the best anyone can ever be. If I spent less time worrying about how I looked or if I was saying the right thing or if I was putting on the best show or writing the most diverse articles or being the most creative, and just relaxed – then maybe I’d feel more at ease. Maybe if I could look at myself and say, “You look perfect” instead of criticizing all the ways I didn’t measure up, I’d find that sense of simple confidence that is so attractive, so employable.

Maybe if I looked at myself through the eyes of a stranger instead of the my own eyes, I’d see how perfect I really am…in my own imperfect way.

Daily Gratitude: Today I’m thankful for my friends who encouraged patience the last few months, it finally paid off!

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Balls in the Air

This morning when the clock struck 6 a.m., I didn’t feel inclined to go run some miles with Mr. Possibility, so I grumbled, rolled over and let him rise to the call of exercise. An hour later when he returned, I hadn’t made breakfast as I promised because my body simply refused to get up, so when he swung open the door to find me in the same position he left me, he gently tossed something at me.

It struck my stomach, instantly waking me up and I groggily asked, “What’s this?” while wondering why he would throw anything at me when I was sleeping so sweetly. He flipped on the switch and I threw the covers over my head, desperately wanting time to go backwards, back to when it was 2 a.m. and I still had five hours of rest left before the day demanded to begin. Coming to terms that Monday was here, regardless if I liked it or not, I opened my eyes to the bright light to find Mr. Possibility shaking his head at me.

“You don’t know what that is?” He asked, dumbfounded. “No,” I replied while thinking “And do I really need to know the importance of some blue ball you threw at me while I was still asleep, you jerk?” “Geez, Tigar! It’s a handball. Haven’t you played?” He asked, grinning in disbelief as he changed out of sweaty gym clothes. “Handball?” I asked, not amused with this conversation or the fact it was light outside. “Handball, it’s a city sport. I used to be pretty good at it. You’ve never played?”

I refrained from reminding him I’m from North Carolina where to my knowledge, handball doesn’t exist and honestly, as sad as it is, cow tipping is more common. Instead, I told him I hadn’t played before, but I would love to try it with him sometime and then collapsed back into the bed while he showered and couldn’t look at me disapprovingly for sleeping longer than I should.

A few hours later, after bagels with peanut butter, orange juice, and Monday-morning mass email cleanup, I caught the train from Brooklyn to my Upper West Side apartment to begin a busy day of freelancing and deadlines. Because he gave it to me and I was slightly amused by how high it bounced, I took the ball with me, hidden beneath receipts I needed to throw away and makeup in my Longchamp. While conjuring up some ideas for a new bridal blog I’ll be writing, I distracted myself with playing toss-and-catch with my new friend, the ball.

Yes, folks, I was that bored.

Watching it rise and fall in and out of my hand, I thought about how many balls I have in the air right now. Not just this literal handball that I probably will never use for it’s real purpose, but opportunities and possibilities, decisions to make and chances to take. I’ve recently opened myself up to looking at my life and my future in a different way. I’ve let myself out of a tightly-sealed box to reveal those ideas I’ve had that I’ve been afraid of exploring. Those adventures I didn’t want to take because I was fearful I’d lose my way on the straight-and-narrow if I took a detour.

But detours, while they’re uncertain and a little bumpy, are often what gets you to a place you’d rather be, even if you don’t know it. And you can’t get what you want if you don’t let yourself really, truly figure out what that is, or allow it to change as time, and you, change.

I’ve been nervous about taking a leap of faith into discovering what really does make me happy and what really matters most to me at this point – but when you’re forced to make a decision or try something new, somehow, that fear goes away. That hesitation subsides and you’re opened up to something more exciting – the idea of not having a plan. The feeling of having so many opportunities brewing, so many options to pick from- a sky full of possibility and hope, that you forget why you wanted to stay safe and protected in something secure in the first place.

Because you can’t shoot if you don’t dribble, you can’t aim if you don’t throw. And if you have no balls in the air, you can never catch one as you watch others fall to the ground because they weren’t meant to land.

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An Idle Imagination

In times past, I’ve never enjoyed idle time. Something about actively not doing anything made me feel lazy, unproductive, and well…bored. If I don’t have a to-do list that’s as tall as I am or a million things to keep my attention and drain my energy, then what am I doing with my life? Wasting away into a quiet oblivion, destined to be a failure that lives in one of those huge, rent-controlled apartments in Greenwich with a half-dozen cats, a garden, bookshelves full of steamy romance novels, all alone knitting and drinking tea? (Well, add in a lover and being the author of a few of those novels and maybe that doesn’t sound too bad…)

But lately with a lot more tim eon my hands and a new reason to explore opportunities, I’ve found myself with more idle time than what I know to do with. My first instinct, of course, is to fill it up with coffee and drink dates, classes, aerobics classes, freelancing, and cleaning sprees. But after a while of filling up my days with time slots and blocking off designated periods to do designated things, it occurred to me that really, idle time with no obligations – except to myself – is a great way to think of new things. It’s a great time to consider things I never took into consideration. It’s a good time to figure out what I want, what I need, what I desire, what’s most important, what’s happening, what could happen – and the differences between all of those.

Idle time is a great way to…imagine.

To stop doing everything just as I did it. Even if my choices have led me in different directions than I expected, maybe I could be making better decisions. Maybe I could be a better person. Maybe I could be happier or stronger or full of more spirit. Maybe I could be a more knowledgable writer who takes greater risks that reap more reward and of course, more shortcomings. Maybe I could be a better friend who slows downs and listens when her friends needs them, who is supportive and more readily available, and who actually returns phone calls, emails, and text messages (I’m sorry). Maybe this blog could be better or maybe I don’t want to blog at all. Maybe I want to live in New York – maybe I want to take a year off and move to Australia for the hell of it and to fully experience going down under.

Maybe idle time gives me freedom to dream and to imagine all of the things my life could have, if I stopped for a moment. If I stopped filling it up with all of the things I have to do because of who I am – maybe who I am is different from the person I imagined. If I stopped being dead-set on one career path and imagined all the innovative ways I could do what I love, make money doing it, and broaden my skill set.

Maybe if I stopped doing because that’s what I’ve always thought got me places and started imagining because that’s what I feel like I doing – I’d imagine myself doing and being something more than what and who I am.

Daily Gratitude: I’m thankful for unexpected opportunities. No matter how scary they may be.